15 | You Fishing For Compliments, Asher?
"Give me your hand."
My hand twitches on my stomach before I lift it, reaching forward and sucking in a soft breath when fingers brush my own.
Asher's hand wraps around mine, tightening slightly on my fingers before moving to my wrists where I feel his fingers wrap around it.
My breaths feel heavy in my chest, loud, bouncing around in my ears and it's all I can focus on, the rushed intake of my breathing until suddenly I can't focus on anything but the sensation of my fingertips brushing something hot, hard.
"Asher?" I whisper, my heart pounding.
"Shhh." Asher whispers, "let go, just feel, listen, touch."
I seal my lips shut, mouth feeling dry before I lick my lips.
Energy zips through me when my hand moves, puppeteered by Asher.
I feel the heat emanating from whatever I'm touching - which very much feels like Asher's stomach, the hard planes of his muscles dipping and curving as my hand is moved across his stomach.
Fingers twine between mine, and my stomach swoops low.
"What can you feel?"
I suck in a breath at Asher voice, the raspy low quality to it.
"Skin." I murmur, "your stomach."
"What exactly do you feel?"
"You fishing for compliments, Asher?"
He chuckles lowly. The timbre like a straight shot to my core and I feel the affect it has on me instantly, the wetness pooling between my thighs.
"Tell me what you feel." Asher's voice leaves no room for argument, the words almost a command.
"Hard." I whisper and clear my that, "you feel hot and hard."
My hand moves, and my brows furrow as I try to make sense of where exactly Asher has me travelling.
"What about now?"
"Hard." I squeeze my eyes behind the blindfold. "Harder. Like bone."
My hand moves again.
"And now?"
"Denim."
The cool touch of metal skims against my fingertips and I curl my hand, "Zipper." I say without prompt.
"You're doing good."
The praise shocks me, but what shocks me more is the heat that shoots through me. I squirm on the bed and Asher lets out a breath.
"What's wrong?" His voice sounds odd, choked.
"Nothing." I breathe out, feeling too hot.
"Tell me."
Again, the faint command in his tone has me wanting to rub my legs together, to rip this blindfold off and pull him towards me.
"Tell me, Ivy." Asher says again, his voice tinged with amusement, like he already knows the answer but he wants to hear it from my mouth.
"Say it again." I hush.
His laughter is low, "say what?"
"Asher-"
"I'm not going to say anything until you say the words."
I debate for a second ripping the blindfold off just to save me the embarrassment of saying the words but then Asher is dragging my hands lower and I feel my fingers slim the bulge behind the denim.
"Tell me I'm doing good."
With the blindfold on, the rest of my senses are heightened so it's easier to hear the hitch in his breath, the intake before his hands are no longer holding my wrist.
"Take control and I will."
"What?"
"Do what you want, Ivy. Take control."
I hesitate a second, my hand hovering still over the bulge in his pants but then I move, skimming my fingers upwards, touching the heat of Asher's stomach again.
The muscles beneath my fingertips seem to tighten in response, and Asher lets out a soft groan that makes my heart skip a beat.
With renewed confidence, I lift my other hand and begin to explore the rest of Asher's body, feeling the chiseled lines of his chest, my fingertips tingling from the sensations.
I trace the outline of his muscles, following the contours of his body like an artist trying to capture the essence of their subject.
I hear Asher's breathing becoming more ragged as I continue my exploration, and the scent of his arousal fills the room, a heady mix of spice and masculinity.
My hands move lower, feeling the hard ridges of his hips beneath the denim, and I can't help but imagine the way they would feel against my bare skin.
My fingers dip beneath the denim of his jeans, tugging at the rough material, moving by feel alone until I have him in my hand.
Asher's breath hitches, and I can feel the intensity of his desire coursing through his veins.
My fingers tighten around him, exploring his length, feeling every ridge and vein with a dexterity that can only come from years of practice and careful study, all because of a blindfold, because every other sense is more prominent.
My hand moves up and down, setting a pace that seems to please him, his breath ragged and uneven. I listen to the way he reacts to each touch, the way his body responds to my every move. I adjust my hand, finding the perfect rhythm, the perfect pressure.
"Ivy." Asher moans my name, a ragged whisper.
I can't help but smile, feeling a rush of power and desire coursing through me.
I increase my pace, my hand moving faster and more confidently, my fingers gliding over his shaft like they were meant to be there.
I can feel the heat radiating from his body, his skin slick with sweat from the effort of holding back.
The blindfold is still in place, but I don't need to see to know that he's completely entranced by my touch.
His breath is coming in short, sharp gasps, and the sounds he makes are incredibly arousing.
He keeps repeating my name, like a mantra, as if trying to will himself to stay put, to keep from coming.
"I can't-" Asher cuts off with a grunt, his hips spasming.
I increase my pace again, my hand flying up and down his length, each stroke more determined than the last. I can feel the tension building within him, the longing growing more pronounced with each passing moment.
His body is tense, straining against the denim as if trying to break free. The sound of his ragged breathing fills the room, a symphony of need and desire. I know that it won't be long now.
I slow my pace, wanting to prolong his orgasm, to draw out the anticipation as long as I can. It's almost like I can hear the heartbeat in his chest, pounding like a wild animal, matching the rhythm of my hand moving over him but I'm not sure if that's my own heart beat.
"Fuck." Asher's voice is rough, low. "Ivy, fuc-"
Warm spurts of cum cover my hand and wrist but I keep pumping, listening to the way Asher sucks in a rough breath, the feel of his body drawing towards me like he has no choice but to almost fall forward.
I slow, but don't stop not until Asher's hand is resting on mine and he's stopping me.
Then the feel of him lifting the blindfold. I flinch from the sudden flash of light, my eyes finding Asher's quickly to see him staring down at me with a wrinkle between his brows.
"I've never come so fast from a hand job before." He says the words like he doesn't know what to make of them. "Never come so hard." He reaches forward, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Fuck, Ivy." He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips. "Fuck."
"So it was good?" I ask, watching the way his Adams Apple bops in his throat as he swallows and nods.
"You did great. You were perfect."
I smile back, my heart pounding in my chest and push up on the pillows when a beep comes from Asher and his eyes widen.
He reaches back for his phone, eyes sweeping over the message before he curses quietly.
"It's Jason, Leon's looking for me. He's distracting him downstairs but he's telling me to get down there."
"So Justin?"
"I didn't say anything, but he's not stupid."
I nod, "you should probably get down there."
Asher nods and starts dressing quickly, before he's tugging his shirt over his head, swooping down to deliver a kiss to my lips and rushing out my bedroom door, shutting it with a click as he leaves.
I crash back on my pillows. Staring wide eyed at my bedroom roof and I can't stop the grin from reaching my lips before I move for the bathroom to have yet another shower.
And this time I'm in there for longer than the five minutes it took me to shower the first time, my skin cool from the cold water but flushed with heat none the less, legs shaky but body sated.